


The Chains He Bore

by bodtany



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Egyptian!AU, M/M, Oneshot, Prince!Jean, Violence, Whipping, but nothing too too serious, slave!marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtany/pseuds/bodtany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a slave to the prince of Egypt, Jean. Things take a dark turn when Marco tries to defy his master...</p>
<p>(Inspired by the amazing cacklingjackal's Egyptian!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chains He Bore

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentions of violence and minor mentions of blood.

He was clearly amused, but there were underlying hints of anger as he spoke.

“Marco.” My head turned sharply to the side, almost on its own accord. I would not look upon the scum of the earth before me.

“Pick. It. Up.” Each word was crisp, and calm, and I hated it. Jean was fine—no, better than that. He was comfortable and his body was operating on more than a bite of rotting fig and three hours of sleep. What more could he want?

To see me suffer, apparently.

“No.” My voice was shaking, but I held my head high as I openly refused the prince of Egypt. 

_SMACK_

I felt only a distant tingle where Jean had backhanded me.

“Pick it up.” Still calm, still perfectly put together. I hated this. I _hated_ this. I hated him.

“No.” I wanted out. I didn’t care if it meant imprisonment or even death. The weight of slavery had grown too heavy to bear.

_SMACK_

“If I have to say it again, you will regret it.” Jean grabbed my chin and yanked it towards him, forcing me to look him in the eyes. His voice was low, deadly, the airiness of amusement long gone and replaced by a purr practically dripping in venom. “Marco, pick it up."

Slowly, I lowered my gaze to the bangles that had “fallen” to the floor. In reality, Jean had just dropped them and looked at me expectantly, waiting to revel in the moment that I would come to retrieve them. Well, surprise. I wasn’t about to give him that sick satisfaction. Not again.

My stomach lurched as I glared back at Jean, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care. This was it. I was done, broken, no more. He would have to find a new toy to play with.  
I took a deep breath.

“No.”

I braced myself for another slap, but it never came. Instead, Jean released me and took a few steps back.

“Guards!” I flinched, but my eyes never left his. Jean looked pleased with himself as two guards rushed into his chambers. I felt only a growing sickness.  
“Give me a whip.” Jean commanded. The guards looked confused, but didn’t dare refuse.  
“Your majesty, if he is being trouble we can—” One began to offer as he handed Jean his whip.  
Ever polite, my master cut him off, announcing, “That will be all, thank you.” The guards did not hesitate to bow and show themselves out.

I swallowed nervously, watching as Jean unfurled the whip slowly. “I think it’s time you learned a lesson, Marco.” Menacing as he was, Jean still appeared maddeningly calm, enunciating every syllable crisply. “You see, I am not often denied things. In fact, it never happens. I always get what I set out for, every time.” Jean began to walk toward me, a kind of smirk dancing across his lips. I took a step back, and was humiliated to find that my legs had begun to shake. “So when I say,” continued Jean, “that you will remove your tunic, face the wall and kneel, well…” he cracked the whip once, striking the ground loudly, “that’s just what you’re going to do.”

I was at a loss for words. There was no way I would bow to him now, not after everything I’d been through. Still, I knew Jean was serious. Very serious. All the noble will to die before submission was beginning to melt away, leaving me empty and more than a little afraid. I began to take another step back, but my legs hit the cool surface of the wall. I glanced around the room, looking for some escape or salvation, but there was none to be had. It was just me, and Jean, and the uneasy knot in my gut screaming for me to kneel.

So I did.

One leg at a time, eyes distant and foggy, I fell to my knees.

“Tunic.” Demanded Jean. I obeyed mechanically, feeling nothing as I drew my arms from the sleeves and pulled the material over my head.

“Turn.” I pushed myself around until I was facing the wall. Maybe it was better this way. Jean wouldn’t get to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“You’ll get five lashes for each time you disobeyed me, plus ten for forcing me to waste my time punishing you. Understood?” I hardly filtered the information, but nodded automatically, knowing better than to make Jean wait for a response.

A heavy silence fell over the room, encompassing both of us.

Then came the inevitable, the sharp _ffffww-CH_ that made me gasp before the whip had even struck me.

I’d been lashed before, so I was not as surprised when the first strike hit me. Jean wasn’t very practiced with a whip, either, which was a small fortune. Still, I couldn’t help but to grunt a little in pain. By the fifth strike, I was crying out, and by the fifteenth, tears were streaming down my cheeks. Small screams ripped from between my clenched teeth, ending abruptly when I managed to catch them. I would have been able to withstand the searing stings, I think, if it wasn’t for the humiliation of having to kneel before Jean and accept them.

“Last five.” Declared Jean, sending the whip down with just as much force as he had the first time. I gasped for breath with each blow, and eventually jammed my fist in my mouth in an effort to keep from disturbing the rest of the palace. When Jean finally let the whip fall to the floor, I dropped my head between my knees in agony. Bile rose in my throat as I felt a sickening trickle of warmth down my back. Hanji would probably have to bandage me, if Jean would even let her.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” I wiped my eyes with shaking fingertips and turned to find Jean standing over the bangles with his arms crossed impatiently in front of him. “Marco, pick them up.”

After a split second of hesitation, I rose slowly, every movement pulling painfully at the throbbing stripes across my back. My eyes stayed locked on the bangles as I limped over and swiped them up in one agonizing motion. Then, in a final shattering of whatever dignity remained, I strode to Jean’s jewelry box and placed them inside. Jean chuckled, and I thought I was going to vomit as he praised me sweetly. “Good boy.”


End file.
